Tell of the brightness parted,

Thou bee, thou lamb at play!
Thou lark, in thy victorious mirth!
-Are ye, too, pass'd away!

Mournfully, sing mournfully!
The royal rose is gone.

Melt from the woods, my spirit, melt
In one deep farewell tone!

Not so, swell forth triumphantly,
The full, rich, fervent strain!
Hence with young love and life I go,
In the summer's joyous train.

With sunshine, with sweet odour,
With every precious thing,
Upon the last warm southern breeze
My soul its flight shall wing.

Alone I shall not linger,

When the days of hope are past,
To watch the fall of leaf by leaf,
To wait the rushing blast.

Triumphantly, triumphantly!
Sing to the woods, I go!
For me, perchance, in other lands,

The glorious rose may blow.

The sky's transparent azure,

And the greensward's violet breath, And the dance of light leaves in the wind, May there know nought of death.

THE DIVER.

No more, no more sing mournfully!
Swell high, then break, my heart!
With love, the spirit of the woods,
With summer I depart!

147

THE DIVER.

"They learn in suffering what they teach in song.'

SHELLEY.

THOU hast been where the rocks of coral grow,
Thou hast fought with eddying waves;-
Thy cheek is pale, and thy heart beats low,
Thou searcher of ocean's caves!

Thou hast look'd on the gleaming wealth of old,
And wrecks where the brave have striven:
The deep is a strong and a fearful hold,
But thou its bar hast riven!

A wild and weary life is thine;
A wasting task and lone,

Though treasure-grots for thee may shine,
To all besides unknown!

A weary life! but a swift decay

Soon, soon shall set thee free;
Thou 'rt passing fast from thy toils away,
Thou wrestler with the sea!

In thy dim eye, on thy hollow cheek,
Well are the death-signs read-
Go! for the pearl in its cavern seek,
Ere hope and power be fled!

And bright in beauty's coronal
That glistening gem shall be;
A star to all in the festive hall-
But who will think on thee?

None! as it gleams from the queen-like head, Not one 'midst throngs will say,

"A life hath been like a rain-drop shed,
For that pale quivering ray."

Woe for the wealth thus dearly bought!
-And are not those like thee,

Who win for earth the gems of thought?
O wrestler with the sea!

Down to the gulfs of the soul they go,
Where the passion-fountains burn,
Gathering the jewels far below
From many a buried urn:

Wringing from lava-veins the fire,
That o'er bright words is pour'd;
Learning deep sounds, to make the lyre
A spirit in each chord.

But, oh the price of bitter tears,

Paid for the lonely power

That throws at last o'er descrt years,

A darkly glorious dower!

Like flower-seeds, by the wild wind spread,
So radiant thoughts are strew'd;

-The soul whence those high gifts are shed,
May faint in solitude!

THE REQUIEM OF GENIUS.

And who will think, when the strain is sung
Till a thousand hearts are stirr'd,
What life-drops, from the minstrel wrung,
Have gush'd with every word?

None, none!-his treasures live like thine,
He strives and dies like thee;

149

-Thou, that hast been to the pearl's dark shrine, O wrestler with the sea!

THE REQUIEM OF GENIUS.

"Les poètes dont l'imagination tient à la puissance d'aimer et de souffrir, ne sont-ils pas les bannis d'une autre région?"

MADAME DE STAEL- -De L'Allemagne.

No tears for thee!-though light be from us gone
With thy soul's radiance, bright, yet restless one!
No tears for thee!

They that have loved an exile, must not mourn
To see him parting for his native bourne

O'er the dark sea.

All the high music of thy spirit here,
Breathed but the language of another sphere,
Unecho'd round;

And strange, though sweet, as 'midst our weeping skies

Some half-remember'd strain of paradise

Might sadly sound.

13*

Hast thou been answer'd? thou, that from the night
And from the voices of the tempest's might,
And from the past,

Wert seeking still some oracle's reply,
To pour the secrets of man's destiny
Forth on the blast!

Hast thou been answer'd?—thou, that through the gloom,

And shadow, and stern silence of the tomb,
A cry did'st send,

So passionate and deep? to pierce, to move,
To win back token of unburied love

From buried friend!

And hast thou found where living waters burst?
Thou that did'st pine amidst us, in the thirst
Of fever-dreams!

Are the true fountains thine for evermore?
Oh! lured so long by shining mists, that wore
The light of streams!

Speak! is it well with thee?-We call, as thou,
With thy lit eye, deep voice, and kindled brow,
Wert wont to call

On the departed! Art thou bless'd and free?
-Alas! the lips earth covers, even to thee,
Wert silent all!

Yet shall our hope rise fann'd by quenchless faith, As a flame, foster'd by some warm wind's breath, In light upsprings: